


Appetites

by Mector



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mector/pseuds/Mector
Summary: Petyr has strange appetites





	1. Chapter 1

Petyr Baelish was famished, he tore through the flesh, his mind delirious in his excitement. The room filled with the sound of his ripping, biting, chewing and moaning. He was glad his room had been sequestered to the back of the castle as no one would hear the noises of his delight. He admired the feast spread upon the table, it was turning out to be just as tasty as he had thought.

“Is this becoming a habit now?”

Petyr was shocked out of his reverie by the words and he quickly reached for his dagger.  
Varys stood in the doorway, his face pulled into a mask of disgust. Only the tiny smirk on his face betraying his perverse amusement. Petyr groaned after realizing the identity of his intruder.

“What brings you to Winterfell?” he sighed, wiping blood off his fingers and putting down his fork and dagger. Trust Varys to ruin the mood instantly.

“I’m here to speak to your _King of the North_ ,” he emphasized Jon’s title mockingly. Petyr knew his loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen was nothing but a farce like all his loyalties before, but he played the actor so well, it annoyed him to no end.

“I did not expect to walk into this scene…” Varys said, splaying his hands.

“You will not…” Petyr began, desperately trying to hide what he could even though he knew the damage was done.  
“If I tell him, the _King_ that is, he may find it imperative to relate the knowledge to his darling little sister you _so_ doth on…”

“Stop,” shouted Petyr, the rage bursting out of him before he could control it. Varys smirked and Petyr cursed under his breath trying to conceal his rage. Letting that bald viper know his strong emotions about Sansa would be a deadly mistake.

“You wouldn’t dare.”  
Varys shrugged, “I know you to be an expert in hiding evidence.”

Petyr laughed. “I suppose your little birds have been whispering. It’s a sophisticated taste, a slave in Essos would not begin to even understand it, let alone indulge in it.”

Varys scowled, as he always did when Littlefinger brought up his torrid past.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to have your way with Sansa just as you did her mother.”

“Her mother was already dead!” he shot back, his anger back.

Varys grinned. “Oh I suppose that makes it all better.”

“Leave me,” Petyr groaned and Varys left the chamber leaving Petyr to sate the arousal that had overcome him.

He closed his eyes and stroked himself to thoughts of devouring Sansa’s milky white flesh raw, perhaps with a side of horseradish and wine.


	2. Chapter 2

She was too smart, thought Petyr watching her, too smart for her own good. She made him equally proud and apprehensive, of course she had her suspicions of him as she should. _Was there a man in Westeros more dangerous than him?_ But he was also her greatest ally and protector, and he had meant every word when he had declared his devotion to her.

She wasn’t like the other Starks, quick tempers and slow minds, the lot of them. He watched her intensely and religiously, it was a wonder no one detected his gaze but she always did, and she glanced up from her conversation with Jon Snow up and shot him a glare. The look went straight to his groin and he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the meal of venison and potatoes in front of him. He distracted himself with thoughts of Jon Snow _the King of the North_.

Petyr snickered out loud. Not for long, the plan for Jon’s demise was already well under way but _all in due time, all in due time._ He was nothing if not a patient man. He looked up again to see her walking towards him and his heart beat wildly in his chest. She wore a long luxurious fur coat, with a simple black high necked dress underneath, both luxurious well made items, a telltale of her rank. She looked different since her King’s Landing days with her beautiful flowery dresses and a small army of maidens to braid her hair, and disguise her with all manner of scents and powders.

She had always been beautiful but stripped down, she was stunning. As wild and natural as Winterfell, her appearance matched his appetites. He could hardly wait for the summer months when she would have more skin showing. Her beauty far exceeded her mother's. His King’s Landing brothel had been famous for it’s bevy of beauties he had handpicked from across the land, he had even cultivated a private harem of the most gorgeous women for himself and his most prestigious clientele but none of those women -- nothing -- held a candle to Sansa.

“I need to speak to you after you have eaten,” she said, leaning down to speak to him.

He was enveloped by her scent and discreetly inhaled, the tone of her voice may be grating to anyone else but it was pure sweetness to him.

“Of course,” he nodded. She had started coming to him for advice on political matters and it nearly made him giddy, but by all outward appearances he remained politely stoic. Petyr knew that Sansa believed herself to hate him. She was angry with him, thinking herself abandoned to Ramsay Bolton, it made him sick to think of the things she had endured but what was past was past. It was all part of the greater plan that he revealed to her -- _to sit on the Iron Throne, with you by my side -_ \- a plan no one had an inkling about other than her---and perhaps Varys. He pushed thoughts of Varys out of his head as quickly as they came.

Everything was part of the greater plan, and had to have happened, she would be convinced eventually.

She would learn to love him. He was patient. He finished his meal, closing his eyes for a moment and imagined his favourite fantasy.

_Happy Birthday Petyr,” Sansa crooned, her tone of voice sweet and loving as she lay sprawled on the bed. She was naked, her skin soft, beautiful and pristine, and she was stretching her feet towards him. “One toe, you can have one toe,” she said, holding out a dagger to him which he would take. “A little toe, a gift for you. Happy Birthday Petyr, my love, my king. She would smile and lay her head on her pillow, closing her eyes and preparing herself for the pain of him cutting her flesh and bone._

Petyr opened his eyes smiling to himself and stood up, walking towards Sansa’s chamber as thoughts of tasting her made his mouth water.


End file.
